


Dichotomy

by potentiality_26



Category: Justified
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Boyd was the next generation of everything Raylan grew up promising himself he would never be. He was also the first boy Raylan ever trusted with his life. No matter how much time passed, or how many crazy things Boyd did, he would always be both of those things.  It was a problem.  Except when it wasn't.</em>
</p><p>Boyd saves Raylan.  Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dichotomy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this some time ago, and I'm finally posting it here. It's more in keeping with the earlier seasons, when I wrote it, but it's technically compliant through season four.

The first thing Raylan knew when he awoke was that his shoulder hurt- a very great deal, and in the manner particular to a bullet hole, if memory served. The second thing was that he had no idea where he was.

He cracked his eyes open hesitantly.

All he saw at first was warm light and a dark shape to his left- and something twinkling faintly in the dark.

Raylan blinked determinedly and the clouds in his eyes slowly cleared. The dark shape to his left materialized into Boyd Crowder. He was hunched over in a chair- not sleeping, as was so often the way in movies, but reading something fat and old and probably philosophical; the kind of thing that only ever really made sense to Boyd. Having recognized Boyd, Raylan’s mind- slow and syrupy as it was- identified this as the spare room in Ava’s house.

The twinkle, Raylan discovered, was the sunlight streaming in from the window behind Boyd and hitting the lenses of the pair of reading glasses sitting on Boyd’s face.

It took a few seconds for the full extent of how bizarrely hot Boyd looked in those glasses to hit Raylan, but when it did it felt like a punch in the gut and Raylan floundered for a while, unable to even talk.

When he did speak, he was proud of what he managed to say: “Gettin’ old, Boyd.”

Boyd blinked at Raylan in that way of his that made him seem like he was perpetually walking out of a bar into the full sun. Then he sat the book on the table by the bed and rested his glasses on the cover. “What was that, Raylan?”

“Glasses,” Raylan elaborated. His tongue felt heavy and too thick, and though he tried touching his temple to reinforce the remark his limbs didn’t seem overly interested in obeying him. This was going to have to do.

“Oh,” Boyd said simply, eyes flicking to the objects in question and then back to Raylan.

“Getting old,” Raylan repeated, as Boyd obviously hadn’t gotten enough out of it the first time.

“So are you,” Boyd returned with uncharacteristic tetchiness. “Too old for this shit, anyway.” He looked… well, he looked like Boyd, body still and solid yet as threatening as a coiled spring, eyes big and dark but with something behind them that reminded Raylan of hot coals.

For a moment, Raylan tried to remember the last time Boyd was so laconic.

A specific example didn’t present itself, but Raylan did suddenly remember what had happened before he woke up here with stunning clarity- and damned if he didn’t immediately wish he didn’t remember at all. He remembered lying on a rock with a searing pain in his shoulder and varying degrees of soreness in the rest of him. He remembered feeling choked by the darkness that covered him like a shroud and the thick, hated smell of coal in his nose, and being so confused that he didn’t know what day it was. But he knew _where_ he was as clearly as he knew his own name, so he shouted for Boyd.  

Now, Raylan also knew that he’d been set upon by men in masks- men he’d undoubtedly annoyed lately, though he couldn’t place them- one of whom shot him, and then left him in the mine. He knew that he was not nineteen anymore and that there was no earthly reason why when he shouted for Boyd in that mine, Boyd should’ve shouted back. But he did.

At the time, it had been like one of those dreams where everything ridiculous makes perfect sense, and he’d looked at Boyd as the other man examined his injuries and he'd seen the teenager instead. It had been on the tip of his tongue for every moment they were down there to tell Boyd that he was leaving Harlan, that he had money saved, some of it from Aunt Helen, some of it his- enough for both of them, if Boyd was so inclined. But Boyd was tying his shoulder none too gently and all that came out was hisses and swear words.

Things with Boyd had always been complicated. Raylan hadn’t needed that little blast from the past to remind him of that- but what he _particularly_ hadn’t wanted was a refresher course on how attractive he’d once found Boyd.

Oh, it wasn’t that Boyd wasn’t good-looking anymore. Even past forty Boyd was still all wiry muscle and perpetually tousled hair. When he fixed his attention on someone those muddy green eyes still had a way of sucking all the air out a room. But the thing Raylan had for Boyd- such as it was- had been in his head for so long now that it was just… background noise. But when he was nineteen it had been a different story.

He blamed bits of residual nineteen-ness for the visceral reaction he’d had to Boyd in glasses just there.    

And now Boyd was annoyed because he’d been worried about Raylan. The mixture of pleasure and frustration Raylan had always experienced when he thought about Boyd being protective of him blossomed, but it felt distant, as though Raylan was feeling it through a fog. Mostly he was just glad. Glad was he was alive and sure that if it wasn’t for Boyd he wouldn’t be.

What had Boyd been saying? That Raylan was too old for this kind of thing?

“I’ll stop if you do.” Raylan stopped being proud of himself for being able to talk. If he’d been fully cognizant, that would _never_ have come out.  

Boyd froze, eyes fixed on Raylan with that unblinking intensity that always made Raylan feel a bit too big for his own skin. “You promise?” he asked suddenly, those coals behind his eyes smoldering strangely.

Raylan swallowed, throat feeling dry. “Boyd,” he started, then coughed. His ribs hurt.

The look in Boyd’s eyes passed as quickly as it had come, and suddenly he was fluffing Raylan’s pillows and giving his injuries a cursory examination.

Raylan surprised Boyd again by catching and patting his hand as it went by.

It mirrored the time Boyd did the same to Raylan after Raylan shot him- treating that bullet like a gift- unconsciously at first, but when Raylan noted the similarity he thought it was apt. He started to think he understood how a bullet could be a gift- it felt not unlike being shot every time he had admit, once again, that Boyd Crowder was the reason he was still alive.

Boyd was the next generation of everything Raylan grew up promising himself he would never be. He was also the first boy Raylan ever trusted with his life. No matter how much time passed, or how many crazy things Boyd did, he would always be both of those things. It was a problem. Except when it wasn’t.

“You carried me out,” Raylan said. He remembered that from earlier, too.

“I did,” Boyd replied. “You want some water?”

At Raylan’s nod, Boyd lifted a glass from the bedside table to his lips carefully. Raylan took a cooling sip and Boyd drew back the glass. Raylan couldn’t help noticing that Boyd hadn't withdrawn the hand Raylan had touched.

“How did you get there?”

“I was in the area,” Boyd told him, mysteriously. “I spoke to two of your fellow marshals,” he added.

“Tim and Rachel?”   

Boyd nodded.  He seemed to have... warmed up- like his words were a rusted hinge that had needed oiling to flow with their usual ease.  “I told them that no one knew that mine better than I did. They conceded the point. They had other things on their plate at the time.”

Raylan could’ve been wrong- he hoped he was- but this Swiss cheese of an explanation conjured only one image in his mind: of Tim and Rachel arresting Boyd on one charge or another, but then letting him go so he could save Raylan while they went after the people who had attacked him. Raylan didn’t push for a more detailed account; that would keep. “Why aren’t I in a hospital?”

“I know an excellent doctor, Raylan- and it was generally felt that your… antagonists might best be flushed out if they thought you hadn’t survived.”

Raylan didn’t actually think Boyd was wrong, but he snorted at Boyd’s _generally felt_ all the same. “Now, why don’t I believe Tim and Rachel agreed to that?” It might have been naïve to pretend that the three of them had much spent time negotiating, but it was also strangely soothing.

“It was my interpretation that when they agreed I was the one best equipped to save you, they surrendered you to my care absolutely,” Boyd evaded placidly. “Until the danger has passed, at least.”

The _at least_ made it sound as though Boyd would prefer to have Raylan in his care for longer than that, and Raylan was still parsing through what it meant when Boyd brought his hand up in a surprisingly mothering gesture to feel Raylan’s forehead and then his cheek, frowning. “You’re a little feverish,” he informed Raylan.

Raylan finished parsing and mustered all his strength. He lifted the hand still holding Boyd’s and kissed the back of Boyd’s hand quickly.

“Raylan-”

“Thank you,” Raylan said. “For being there.” He kept hold of Boyd’s hand for another second before releasing it and sitting back to admire his handiwork.

Boyd finally stopped looking like a crazy nursemaid and started just looking crazy- which, oddly enough, was a good look for Boyd. He didn’t say, _which time?_ though he had every right to. He merely released a rattling breath and went quiet and still. 

Raylan shrugged and said, “Some people are afraid of snakes.”

And Raylan didn’t have to say what _he_ was afraid of, not to Boyd- and Boyd smiled, all straight white teeth and wide glowing eyes.  “Like I said, no one knows that mine like I do.”   


End file.
